It ought to be more strange the way that experience can be constrained to an awkward push and pull in the domain of a subject held open by a weave of personifications and the imperatives they bear with them, to respond, to acknowledge, to be right with, to pivot, to overcome and so on. The business of life is also a sort of weather, a sort of music, and when this becomes apparent you go inside and shut the door. It's not something to make too much of, as if you need to reach a point of equilibrium, or to put the two sides into dialogue, to adduce some important conclusion workable for both parties. Let each get on with what it needs to do. The way it happens is the same, regardless, and this is what begs to be uncovered. It may be like this now but it wasn't a moment ago; it is the place of its own event, here, but where was the placing, on what background? What terms can get at the process, the advent? Are there stages? What sort of time, what logic of succession is needed to allow a sketch or a schematisation of all this to be filled out? What does experience look like? What is the size of life?